


Disappearance of the Dalish Statue

by ContreParry



Series: Messere Anders's Murder Mysteries [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe- 1920s Thedas, Gen, M/M, Museum Heist - Freeform, Mystery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 01:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15328719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: Anders takes residence in Kirkwall to uncover the perpetrators of the attack that left his lover Tranquil many years ago. However, snooping around Kirkwall means snooping into other people's business. When a Dalish diplomat is accused of stealing a priceless artifact from the Kirkwall Museum of Art and History, Anders can't help stepping in and teaming up with taciturn Detective Fenris to put matters to right.





	Disappearance of the Dalish Statue

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to [GoatBazaarofDragons](https://goatbazaarofdragons.tumblr.com/), who went above and beyond to beta this chapter! Thank you so, so much!

“The wallpaper in the parlor looks like a Mortaletasi picked it out for their crypt, but the bedrooms are a decent size and it came partially furnished,” Anders announced as he stood in the eye of the storm that was his wardrobe. Evening wear was scattered across the bed in a rainbow display of silk, velvet, and intricate beadwork. Daytime clothing was draped over his ottoman. His coat collection hung on the coat rack. Shoes were neatly stacked in one corner. Menswear was folded and put away in his cherrywood armoire.

“It’s a sweet deal you got for yourself, Anders. At least you unpacked all the clothes. How you managed that feat in one night I will never know,” Isabela sighed and flopped down onto the bed. Anders rolled his eyes and started hanging up his day clothing. Isabela rolled onto her stomach and watched Anders through half-lidded eyes like a lazy tigress.

“You know, I saw your Inspector in my bar last night,” Isabela purred. “He had his glass of wine and talked with Samson. Seemed to have a lovely conversation with the man.”

“That’s nice,” Anders replied. He neatly folded another silk scarf, pale peach fabric smooth and cool like water in his hands. If he pretended like he was uninterested, perhaps Isabela wouldn’t slyly bring up the subject of Inspector Fenris. Handsome, brooding, stern Inspector Fenris, who was so professional and delectable looking in his sharp dark suit and hat, his green eyes never missing a thing. They had tea nearly a week ago at his hotel room. Anders had, naturally, been a perfectly elegant and gracious host. Inspector Fenris had been a perfectly lovely and charming guest. He informed Anders on the current investigation into the poisoning and subsequent death of Basil Beauchamp via a bad batch of lyrium and expressed some optimism on the case. Inspector Fenris might believe that he could clean up Kirkwall’s grime and corruption by arresting a Chantry Sister, but Anders knew better. No, this Sister Petrice would walk free, protected by Chantry money and Templar strength. She was untouchable. It was a pity, Anders thought. Inspector Fenris did look so handsome when he was smug.

“He’s as handsome and brooding as ever,” Isabela added, her lips stretched in a wicked smirk. “I’d snatch him up myself if he didn’t think I was just trying to get him to ignore the gambling in the back room.”

“You still hold gambling tournaments in your back room?” Anders asked quickly, gleefully pouncing in the chance to change the subject. He supposed that even with an established business, Isabela was Isabela and she would never slow down. Gambling was just one of Isabela’s many vices.

“It’s just a bit of fun between friends,” Isabela laughed. “That Varric Tethras is a fierce competitor! I can’t have him cleaning me out every night!”

“You’re fiercer, no doubt,” Anders teased. Privately he wondered if he should kiss his pocketbook goodbye, for Isabela would surely fleece him of his coin if he ever dared join in a game with her.

“I win my fair share of games. He brings Hawke, sometimes,” Isabela shrugged. “I think the boy’s sweet on me, but he makes a pass at everything that moves. Might be a bit of fun, for a while.”

“He is a catch, isn’t he?” Anders remarked, fixing his gaze on Isabela. Her tone was light, but Anders knew her long enough and well enough to know when Isabela was avoiding deeper subjects and deeper feelings. He also knew that those deep waters were not for him to wade in today.

“Certainly. Plenty of bachelorettes are willing to overlook certain connections and histories to be the Champion’s bride,” Isabela said with a snort. She rolled onto her back and feigned a swoon, draping her forearm against her forehead. Her gold bangles and bracelets clinked together like many chiming discordant bells.

“Oh, Messere Hawke,” Isabela said breathily. “I am so delicate and dainty, please help me!”

Anders snorted. “Isabela, dear, there is nothing delicate about you.” Isabela removed her arm from her face to hoist herself up on the chaise and glare at him.

“You arse,” she said without much heat behind the words. “I’ll have you know that I am perfectly dainty when I choose to be. I just choose not to.” They maintained eye contact for a solid minute. Anders’s mouth quivered. Isabela wiggled her eyebrows. And then the two were laughing at the silliness of the moment.

“If you help me put these dresses into the armoire over there, I’ll make sure you get a decent lunch. Wish I had room service here, but we’ll manage just fine for now,” Anders said, and Isabela pushed herself up and made her way to Anders’s bed. With her help, Anders was able to hang up all his evening gowns and even organize them by color. They proudly gazed upon their work.

“Quite the collection. I didn’t realize anyone could wear so many dresses,” Isabela remarked as she ran her hand down a dark blue velvet gown. It would look magnificent on her, Anders thought, but just about everything looked good on Isabela. She was the sort of woman who could wear sackcloth and look like a goddess.

“It’s a talent,” Anders replied. “I make a spectacle of myself wherever I go.” He rolled up the sleeves of his blouse before placing his hands on his hips.

“Now, I think I’ll see what I can do with that mess of a kitchen,” Anders declared. “Maker’s Balls, I I think I will have to renovate everything in this house before it fits my standards.”

“Your standards are ‘can my clothes all fit inside along with a dozen cats,’ so I think you’ll do just fine,” Isabela said dryly as they walked down the winding wooden staircase. Anders pretended to ignore that jibe about the cats, though he had taken the time to ensure that the house would have ample room for several felines. It wasn’t the deciding factor, obviously, but it was… well, it was something, and it mattered to him so there!

“The kitchen is modern, thank Andraste’s arse, but the decor is outrageous. The wall color is bearable, I suppose, but this floor-” Anders shook his head and gestured at the checkerboard pale blue and peach linoleum tiles. “I’ll get a rug for the moment.” It wasn’t as if he would spend every day in the kitchen, especially after he hired a cook, housekeeper, butler- Maker help him, he had to hire staff! It was pretty impressive for a poor Anderfels boy, to own a house in the Free Marches and have to worry about hiring a staff.

“You’ll forget about it by tomorrow morning,” Isabela retorted as she opened the icebox emblazoned with frost runes to keep food perfectly chilled. “So we have the remains of a chicken salad, tomato, lettuce, cream- my, Anders, is that a walnut cake?”

“I have bread. Chicken salad sandwiches and a slice of walnut cake for lunch?” Anders suggested. “We can eat in the parlor and discuss our plans for the rest of the day.” And so they ate lunch and washed it down with lemonade. As they ate they spoke of small things: the weather, the latest gossip in Kirkwall, the abundance of bootleg lyrium throughout the Free Marches, and, of course, the rising tensions between the Kirkwall guard and the Templar Order affiliated with the Chantry.

“Knight Commander Stannard keeps beefing up the patrols on the docks, looking for bootleg lyrium. Darling dearest Captain Vallen is not pleased, of course.” Isabela commented as she dug into her cake. “Pissed her off something fierce.”

“She’s taking cuts from smugglers, I take it?” Anders asked casually. Corruption was rife in Kirkwall, it wouldn’t surprise him at all to hear that the Guard Captain was raking in some money by turning her back.

“Aveline?” Isabela nearly choked on her bite of cake. “Lady Manhands? Captain “I’ve got a stick up my arse” Vallen? Taking cuts from lyrium smugglers?” She took a long swig of her lemonade, then slammed her crystal glass on the table. Anders winced- crystal of that quality was hard to come by.

“No, Captain Vallen wouldn’t dare dip a toe out of line. All about law and order, that one. Can’t even sneeze without her catching it.” Isabela finally said once she caught her breath. “Andraste’s Granny Panties, I can’t even imagine Aveline stealing a chocolate bar! Taking cuts from lyrium smugglers, ha!” Isabela seemed to find that particularly amusing, as she kept giggling as she poured herself more lemonade. Anders imagined a stone-faced guard in full Kirkwall regalia confiscating candy bars from children and eating them. Thinking of the Kirkwall Guard made him think of the few men he knew in the Guard, and then he was thinking of dashing, stern Detective Fenris, with a voice made for long nights and dirty talk and green eyes that smoldered- Anders shook his head. Absolutely not the time to have fantasies, especially when he was trying to dig up some dirt on Kirkwall’s Templar Order!

“What’s got her so upset about the Templars? Is she a Mage sympathizer? You’d think she’d be happy with more eyes on the docks if she’s such a…” Anders trailed off.

“Goody two shoes? No, that’s not it.” Isabela retorted. “She was married to a Templar, once, so she’s probably not the greatest Mage advocate-”

“Ugh, of course,” Anders muttered into his lemonade. Fucking Kirkwall. No one liked Mages here. Not even the Mages liked Mages.

“But she isn’t particularly anti-Mage, either. She absolutely loathes the Knight Commander, probably because Stannard’s sending her Templars into parts of the city that’s under Guard jurisdiction. Stepping on quite a few toes and upsetting plenty of people.” Isabela commented. “Aveline’s an old family friend of the Hawkes, now that I think about it, so she’s more Mage tolerant than most that you’ll find in Kirkwall.”

“The Hawke family seems to have plenty of fingers in plenty of pies,” Anders remarked. What a strange family, he thought (and not for the first time). He reconstructed a simplified tale of the Hawke’s meteoric rise in Kirkwall from the multitude of gossip rags, but what set tongues wagging was not always the truth of the matter. Nevertheless, Anders could verify a few things.

Leandra Amell-Hawke was the matriarch of the family. She was the daughter of the Amell family whose prominence in Kirkwall’s high society was only recently restored. She was a widow and had no plans to remarry.

Her husband, Malcolm Hawke, was a Circle Mage who wooed and won Leandra Amell’s heart. The two fled Kirkwall and lived as farmers in Ferelden, creating a family and living a contented life. 

The eldest child was Garrett Hawke. He was boisterous, lively, dashing, and charming. He maintained enough flash and dazzle to keep the general public from prying into his personal life. He owned a newspaper, which he helped run with his business partner and good friend Varric Tethras, another man with many fingers in many pies. Anders didn’t know much else about Garrett Hawke, save for the fact that Isabela considered him to be a great flirt, and that when Anders met him Garrett Hawke had been incredibly… charismatic.

Anders knew the youngest Hawke the best. Bethany Hawke was a fellow mage, after all, and she came to him for help when the Templars came sniffing. She hadn’t needed his help yet, but Anders was sure she would eventually. Kirkwall was never kind to mages, especially brilliant, compassionate ones like Bethany Hawke.

Then there was Carver Hawke, a young man with a surly temper and icy blue eyes like his mother. Anders remembered his face, though the last time he saw it it was rounder, childish, streaked with dirt and twisted in pain and fear. Carver Hawke, middle Hawke child, eldest of the twins, and current Kirkwall Guardsman, was one of his patients back in Lothering, one of those too young soldiers he managed to save in that Blighted land. Funny coincidence, that. Inspector Fenris thought so too. He bristled and threatened Anders under a layer of icy politeness as they drank tea and exchanged niceties. Hurt the Hawke family, Inspector Fenris’s tone implied, and I’ll hurt you.

“What do you know about the Hawke family, Isabela? Anything I couldn’t find out from the papers?” Anders asked. Isabela looked over at him curiously before she set her crystal glass down on the table. 

“Nothing definite. Nothing that you could stick a pin in, but…” Isabela trailed off and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Well, they’re a good family, the Hawkes. Not just in terms of blue blood or wealth or power. They’re a nice, good family. That sort of perfect family that gets painted on cookie tins and what not.”

“But?” Anders prompted because Isabela wouldn’t mention all this if there wasn’t something juicy underneath it all. Isabela shrugged and poured herself another glass of lemonade before downing it.

“But there’s something shady. Rumors are that the Hawke siblings worked for Athenril, doing some smuggling. Or was it the Red Mercs? Ah, memory…” Isabela said lightly. “Whatever the case, that’s how they scrapped by until Garrett Hawke and Varric Tethras got together in the business sense. Opened a newspaper.”

“A wildly successful one, or so it seems,” Anders remarked. The Kirkwall Herald was the number one source of news, biting editorials, and gossip of all kinds. Anders liked reading the editorials. There was plenty of interesting, fiery debate from a multitude of writers, even guests! It was certainly different from the norm. No wonder Kirkwall gobbled it up. The city was always thirsty for something new.

“Don’t know how they got the startup money, and I won’t ask. It apparently had something to do with Deep Roads maps and mining operations and you and I feel the same way about the Deep Roads.” Isabela shuddered. “Rather face a hurricane than bury myself underground to be eaten by Darkspawn.”

“Cousland wants me to go mapping some more Deep Roads. Keep that Knight Commander Stannard off my back.” Anders muttered. “Maker’s Balls, I won’t go in there until I have no other choice.” Anders wondered if bribes would keep him from the Deep Roads. People were always willing to look the other way if they were given the right amount of coin. But some cynical part of him said that wasn’t likely to happen in Kirkwall. Maybe the Templars would look elsewhere sometimes, but it would never happen for a Mage. Someday, eventually, he would have to don the Warden uniform, pull his staff and other equipment from the battered steel steamer trunk he had shoved up in the attic last night, and descend into the ancient caverns of the Deep Roads. Magic and monsters and who knows what else lurked under kilometers of solid stone and earth.

“There’s an exhibit going on at the Kirkwall Museum on artifacts found in the Deep Roads,” Isabela mentioned. “Might help you establish a story to give the Knight Commander when she starts asking questions. You certainly can’t tell her the truth.”

Anders opened his mouth to protest, but shut it quickly. Isabela was right, damn it all! He wished he could say he was there to bring the people who attacked Karl to justice. He wished he could say that he was solving a murder long forgotten, for Tranquility was what led to Karl’s death no matter what anyone else said. But Anders knew better. If he confronted a Templar, any Templar, about Karl Thekla, they would close ranks and he would get nowhere. So let them think this is all Warden business. Let them think Anders was only a temporary eccentricity. It would make the Templars and the Chantry just that little bit softer. So Anders stood up at the table and grinned down at Isabela.

“Well then. I suppose we have an exhibit to visit today! Hurry up, Isabela, I need to find the perfect outfit.” Anders announced. Pale blue cotton blouse and wide leg cream slacks, Anders decided. Casual, a little flirty, perfectly respectable. Isabela groaned and hung her head back until she was gazing up at the ceiling.

“Maker help me, we just put it all away!” She groaned. Anders ignored her. If he was going to have Templars after his ass, that ass was going to look _perfect_.

-

The museum was an ancient building of stone and delicately carved wood, a testament to the long-dead masons and master wood-carvers who built it ages ago. Display cases filled with a variety of objects lined the halls. The skeleton of a dragon hung from the ceiling of the entrance hall, bony wings outstretched in flight.

“Paper mache,” Anders whispered to Isabela, pointing up to the dragon. “At least the skull is. Dragonbone is incredibly dense.” Isabela chuckled and pointed to the twin banners flanking the main marble staircase.

“‘Treasures of the Dales.’ That’s new.” She remarked. “The Deep Roads collection is on our right, but if you want to look at anything else…” She let her words trail off, the end of her thoughts lingering in the air unsaid but understood.

“Isabela, if you want to snoop and imagine scenarios in which you can liberate priceless artifacts, I won’t stop you,” Anders replied with a smile. “I may even help pay for a lawyer if your fantasies become reality.”

“Anders, you are a peach.” Isabela proclaimed. She leaned up and kissed Anders’s cheek. “I’ll meet you back here in thirty minutes and we’ll walk around some more. Even get an ice from Vincento’s later.” Isabela scampered up the stairs. Anders sighed and made his way towards the north wing, passing by the portraits of museum donors through the years. The painted eyes of lords and ladies glared down at him as he walked. The heels of his shoes clicked loudly against the tile floors, and he kept his back straight and held his head high. The hall reminded him of Kinloch Academy. It was cold, austere, obviously old, and painfully expensive. It was designed to make people feel small and unimportant, just like Kinloch Academy made him feel every day until he graduated and flew off for new continents and adventures. Anders certainly found adventure, he thought with a grimace. Or, to be more accurate, adventure found him.

Anders entered a vast room full of light and empty of people. Glass cases neatly bordered the room, full of strange objects that Anders somewhat recognized. There were swords, shields, staffs, bows, and an array of other weaponry that displayed the familiar two headed gryphon of the Grey Wardens. Elaborate models of Darkspawn dotted the room in a mock battle against armored Wardens in traditional diamond patterned surcoats of blue and silver. A miniature model of an Archdemon flew over the room, mouth open in a silent roar. Anders shuddered. He heard more than enough stories of the last Archdemon from Warden Cousland, and even this miniature model made his blood run cold.

“At least they didn’t make a Broodmother. That would be truly obscene.” He muttered, and he made a slow circuit of the room. Blue velvet ropes with silver clasps cordoned off areas of the room with the elaborate displays. There was a cot bed from the 4th Blight, lovingly restored to a brand new state. There were transcripts of letters and journals for visitors to read. There were (and Anders stifled a laugh at this) a collection of Warden flasks through the ages. Some traditions never died.

“The Warden Room.” Anders murmured. “They’ve certainly gone all out.” And there, in one corner of the exhibit, was a simple glass case entitled “Artifacts of the Deep Roads Ruins.” He peered into the display and tried to make out what was laid out on the blue velvet.

“Awfully interested in those Deep Roads, aren’t you?” A man remarked in what sounded like forced casualness. There was a hint of malice in that tone as if the speaker didn’t think Anders should be there. Anders straightened up and slowly turned. Normal, he told himself. He had to act perfectly unruffled. 

He stared down at the man who confronted him, an older man with a thick mustache and beard. It was a pale color, not quite grey but no longer the pure blond it might have been in the man’s youth. His head was bald- shaven, Anders thought, not balding. He wore a uniform, navy blue, cut much like the Kirkwall Guard uniforms, but a red enamel Sword of Mercy was pinned to his lapel, and the helmet casually tucked under the man’s arm bore the same symbol. A Templar. But it wasn’t the man’s uniform that unnerved Anders. It was his eyes, pale and watery and terrifyingly cold.

“How may I help you, Ser?” Anders asked, and the icy tone was intentional. Templars always set him on edge, but this man was- there was something wrong about him. Maybe it was the way he was standing, trying to make himself appear large and imposing. Perhaps it was his expression, a sneer playing on his lips as he looked at Anders. Or maybe it was the way he spoke, full of condescension. Whatever it was, Anders didn’t like it one bit.

“Warden Anders, isn’t it? I’m here to inquire after your paperwork.” The Templar said, his lips peeling back in a rather vicious smile. “You _do_ have your papers in order, don’t you?” Anders glared down at the man, and slowly reached into the leather satchel he had carelessly thrown over his shoulder before he and Isabela left his home. Thank the Maker he had thought to have duplicates of his file made! Anders handed the stack over to the Templar and waited.

“It is all in order, as you see,” Anders stated firmly. “License, paperwork, tests, all of it up to the minute.” The Templar looked over it, his smug expression dropping until it was a scowl. He roughly handed the file back to Anders, who took it and carefully put it back into his satchel. Safe, thank the Maker. He wondered how long it had been since he and Isabela parted ways? Ten minutes? Twenty? Anders hoped it was over forty, and that Isabela would investigate. He didn’t need rescuing, but it would be nice to have a rescue for once.

“Hmm. So you’re visiting Kirkwall on a pleasure jaunt? Thought to get a summer home when Ferelden gets too cold?” The Templar asked, and Anders finally decided what the man’s voice sounded like. It was oily and thick like a black tar pit. Anders hated it. He hated those icy eyes and evil sounding voice and the way the man looked at him like he was a bug pinned to a collector’s board.

“Warden Business.” Anders said. “If you wish for more information you may contact Commander Cousland in Amaranthine. Your Knight Commander has already been informed of my presence.”

“After you arrived, Warden Anders, which is most… unseemly.” The Templar replied. He would want Anders to be unseemly, wouldn’t he? Anders knew this type well. He was the sort of sanctimonious bastard who believed he was the authority of morality and actively lorded his power and privilege over everyone beneath him.

“Such a shame that the official documentation came in late, but I can’t help that. I don’t control the post.” Anders said lightly, and he made his way to move past the Templar. The Templar easily blocked his exit, stepping directly where he planned to go. He smiled at Anders, and it was not a friendly smile at all.

“I think,” The Templar said with a definite leer in his expression as he stepped forward, “That you should come down to the station with me, Warden-”

“Ser Alrik. If you’re quite done you are needed back at your station.” A cool, cultured, and (Anders noted with surprised pleasure) familiar voice said firmly. Ser Alrik grimaced and almost hunched into himself before turning around to see who addressed him. Anders took a vicious joy in seeing the fear spasm across the man’s face, if only for a moment.

“Inspector Fenris. What a surprise.” Ser Alrik finally replied. Anders looked past Ser Alrik’s bulk and to meet the sight of Inspector Fenris dressed in a grey wool suit with his dark grey coat draped over one arm and his fedora in the other hand. His white hair gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, and his green eyes were two chips of glass in his stern face. Anders didn’t think that Inspector Fenris’s face was one to inspire comfort, but at that moment he was the most welcome sight he had ever seen.

“Indeed. And it is a surprise to see you as well. Is there a particular reason you are here?” Inspector Fenris asked. Ser Alrik scowled but said nothing. What was it that Isabela said during their lunch? That the Guard Captain didn’t take kindly to Templars in her area of the city? Was Inspector Fenris’s cool treatment of Ser Alrik part of that rivalry, or was it more personal?

“I’ll be on my way, Inspector. Warden Anders, you had best give an in-person report to Knight Commander Stannard before the month is out.” Ser Alrik warned. It wasn’t out of kindness, Anders knew. When Ser Alrik said that, it sounded like a threat.

“I’ll be sure to. Send my regards.” Anders said haughtily. Ser Alrik glared, but he slowly backed away from Anders and made his retreat. He passed by Inspector Fenris, and Anders was struck by the realization that the inspector was significantly shorter than Ser Alrik. Yet he seemed far more imposing, commanding- Maker, even threatening!- than Ser Alrik could ever hope to be. Andraste’s tits, he was lucky to not be Inspector Fenris’s enemy, Anders thought with some awe and gratitude. And speaking of the Inspector...

“Thanks for the rescue.” Anders murmured once Ser Alrik left the room. “His type was always the worst to deal with at Kinloch.”

“Messere Anders,” Fenris replied smoothly. “The Order has been… a problem for the Guard.”

“Still protecting the lyrium smuggling Chantry bint?” Anders asked cheekily. Inspector Fenris merely looked at him, his expression grim. Anders dropped the false joviality at once.

“Sorry. Thought I’d lighten the mood.” Anders murmured. Inspector Fenris sighed and carefully unfolded his jacket and slipped it on before ramming his hat back onto his head. Was that a flush on those dusky cheeks? With the shadow of the hat falling across Inspector Fenris’s face Anders couldn’t be certain, but he thought he saw the man blush. But why?

“I… may have a need for your expertise later.” Inspector Fenris said awkwardly. “Some missing persons cases that seem odd. I could use fresh perspective-”

“Inspector Fenris, I need help.” An out of breath Carver Hawke burst into the exhibit room. His dark hair was slightly mussed, and his blue eyes wide with barely restrained panic. Inspector Fenris’s persona changed in an instant, so fast that if Anders had blinked he would have missed it. The awkwardness was gone, and the stern, confident Inspector was back and in charge.

“What is it?”

“There’s a museum patron, and she’s causing a bit of a scene. The owners want her tossed out, but she’s a bit… important.” Carver explained quickly. “And she’s Dalish, so I thought that maybe you-”

“I’m an elf, Hawke, not a Dalish elf, and if you need me to solve every delicate situation for you you won’t get the promotion you’re looking for.” Inspector Fenris said, sounding utterly exhausted. “Come along, we’ll get this mess sorted. Another time, Messere Anders.” And then he was gone, swooping out of the room like some knight on a quest or general in a war room- full of purpose and dignity.

“That time may be sooner than you think!” Anders called out towards Inspector Fenris’s retreating form. He waited for a moment or two, and then sedately followed both Inspector Fenris and Carver Hawke down the halls towards the museum’s main entrance. He stood at the edge of the hall and watched the scene unfold before him.

A small elvhen woman stood in the middle of the hall, pointing up the main staircase, her tiny frame shaking. She wore a neat dark green suit, her skirt hitting at the middle of her calf. It was slightly old fashioned but clean and proper and perfectly respectable. Her hair was covered by a green cloche hat. Her pale face was marked with the tattoos of the Dalish tribes, the Vallesin. She glared up the stairs and at the gathering of men and women dressed in their finery.

“That mirror is the property of Clan Sabrae, and you have no right to it!” She declared firmly. Her accent was light and musical, but her tone was like iron. It was more than a little intimidating. Anders liked how the group on the stairs huddled together and flinched. One portly man stepped forward and cleared his throat.

“Well, Ms….” He began, looking down his nose at the young woman below him. He was puffing up like a pompous blowfish, Anders noted. A blowfish wearing a brown tweed suit and gold-rimmed spectacles. The man squinted through his spectacles to look at the woman at the foot of the stairs.

“Merrill, First of Clan Sabrae.” The woman said promptly. Anders was surprised by that. Not many Dalish clans sent their Firsts far from home. Where was Sabrae’s reservation again? Sundermount, Anders thought, but he wasn’t sure. He had only ever worked with one Dalish elf in the Wardens, and Velanna never much cared about other Dalish clans beyond her own. No one else knew much about the Dalish, and Anders’s experience never stretched beyond joining different medical crews in search of people who needed help during the Blight. Sometimes they came across Dalish clans in the area, sometimes there was just evidence of them.

“Ms. Merrill. The artifacts in our exhibit are on loan from various clans.” The man replied. “Now, if you want to contest the legitimacy of these loans, you’ll have to bring it up with the museum board at another time-”

“That mirror was never on loan.” She retorted. “And I have the paperwork to prove it!”

“Another time, Ms. Merrill!” The man exclaimed. “Will someone escort this woman out of the museum?”

“No need. I’ll leave, for now.” The young woman said. “But I won’t go away, Messere Smyth. That mirror will be returned.” She turned on the heel of her sensible brown shoe and marched out of the foyer, her head held high. Anders almost applauded. There was a low whistle behind him, and Anders turned to meet Isabela’s eyes.

“She’s a feisty little kitten, isn’t she?” Isabela remarked. “Shame you missed most of her tirade, she was brilliant.”

“Merrill of Clan Sabrae.” Anders murmured. “Not a lot of clans let their Firsts leave the Clan. At least, that’s what Velanna always said.” _A First’s responsibility is always to their Clan, not that you shem understand responsibility like that_. So what would make a Dalish clan send their First out to the big city? Anders thought of the neatly pressed, well-preserved suit jacket and matching skirt in dark green wool. It was several seasons out of date at least and tailored more for function than fashion. Someone had lovingly saved that suit, someone took care of it, and Merrill, First of Clan Sabrae, put on that suit and went to confront the entire museum board over an artifact… it was important. Extremely important.

“Isabela, what mirror was she talking about? Was it out on display?” Anders asked. He offered his arm out to Isabela, and she took it, tucking her arm in the crook of his elbow. They started strolling along the foyer towards the front door.

“Yes! Plenty of interesting bits and bobs, but that mirror-” Isabela lowered her voice, her golden eyes glimmering with delight. “That mirror might be an _eluvian_!”

“An eluvian!” Anders exclaimed, stopping short of the doors. “Isabela, you can’t be serious!”

“I am! At least, I think it is. It’s all broken up into a million pieces, so perhaps it’s just a lovely full-length mirror, but it’s certainly eerie. The glass in the frame is dark! Instead of reflecting light it seems to-”

“Draw light into it.” Anders murmured. That sounded like an eluvian, an ancient elvhen artifact that allowed for communication across great lengths before the development of telephones, telegraphs, and the rare (and highly expensive and finicky) communication stones. Eluvians were supposed to have all sorts of strange magical qualities to them, and legends claimed that if someone managed to get two of the great mirrors working at once it was possible to travel from one mirror to the other instantaneously, like stepping through a doorway. If the Kirkwall Museum of Art and History had an eluvian in their possession, it would be one of the greatest finds of the Age!

“No wonder she wants it back,” Anders said, and he started walking again. “If that mirror is an eluvian, it’s utterly priceless.”

“And too damn big to loot, damn it all,” Isabela muttered as they stepped out into the afternoon sunlight. “If I had my crew and a layout of the back area of the museum…”

“Plans, Ms. Isabela?” Inspector Fenris asked dryly, startling Anders enough that he jumped a little. Maker’s Balls, the man moved as quietly as a cat! He must have been waiting outside at the top of the steps for- for some reason. Anders had no idea why. Isabela chuckled and smiled at Fenris, all sweetness and charm. Inspector Fenris remained stone-faced.

“Why, Inspector Fenris! It’s only a joke among friends! But if I were to attempt to lift something as valuable as the artifacts in the exhibit upstairs…” Isabela trailed off as she looked down the steps. “Oh dear.” Anders followed her gaze.

Miss Merrill sat on the bottom step, head cradled in her hands, shoulders shaking slightly. Her little trim cloche hat, green wool trimmed with a white ribbon bow, was placed right next to her on the step. She was the picture of utter defeat in her older suit and plain but fashionable hat. Her short dark hair was mussed from her hat. People walked past without noticing her or her distress, save for one person.

“Really, Miss. It’s not so bad.” Carver Hawke said awkwardly as he knelt in front of her. “They’re a bunch of stodgy ars- I mean, people. You’ll just have to try again. Maybe they’ll be more reasonable in the morning.”

“I worked so hard to arrange the meeting with the board this afternoon, and look how that ended up! Oh, Keeper Marethari will be so disappointed in me, I promised to keep my temper!” Merrill exclaimed. “She told me it was pointless, to let them take the eluvian without a fight. Maybe she was right.” She sighed at this as if she was admitting defeat. Well, that wouldn’t do one bit, Anders decided. 

The entire business smacked of injustice, from the way the young woman’s claims to the museum artifacts were brushed off to the way she sat on the bottom step, ready to give her quest up. Anders liked fairness, and this seemed terribly unfair. What would Cousin Justice say? _If you have a chance to act, take it._ Justice would get involved. He’d probably march into that museum intimidate the entire museum board into doing what he wanted and returning the Dalish artifacts to the Dalish clans. Anders wasn’t intimidating like his cousin, but he could do something. In Anders’s opinion, it was always better to do something!

“It’s hardly pointless,” Anders announced as he stepped down to the sidewalk. He pulled a calling card out of his satchel, a little rectangle of pale thick parchment embossed with his name in bright blue ink. He handed the card over to the young woman, who took it in her slender gloved hands and stared at it, then up at him. She had rather pretty dark green eyes, round and wide with surprise.

“Anders. Grey Warden, healer, and a general nuisance.” Anders introduced himself, and he offered his hand to her. She took it gingerly and hoisted herself up off the ground. Strong grip, Anders thought. Unexpected.

“Merrill, First of Clan Sabrae,” Merrill said politely. “But you can call me Merrill, Anders.”

“A pleasure. May I introduce my friend, Isabela?” Anders gestured to Isabela, who sauntered down the stairs and smiled at Merrill. Merrill smiled back shyly.

“That was a pretty impressive show in there, kitten!” Isabela declared. “Made them quake in their boots!”

“I don’t think it worked very well,” Merrill replied softly. “They didn’t give back the eluvian, after all.”

“Frightened them enough to call us, Miss.” Carver offered quickly. “Think you made an impression!” He looked as if he were moonstruck, flushed in the cheeks and reeling. Anders hid his grin behind his hand and a well-placed cough.

“Not a positive one, but an impression.” Inspector Fenris added dryly, joining them on the sidewalk. He gave Anders a long, assessing look, and Anders was once again lost in those green eyes- Maker, Inspector Fenris had beautiful eyes!

“I believe I understand your cousin’s warning now, Messere Anders,” Fenris stated softly, just for Anders.

“Whatever do you mean, dear Inspector?” Anders asked innocently.

“You have a talent for finding the most interesting people at the most interesting of times,” Fenris replied. He held Anders’s gaze for a moment more before turning to Merrill. 

“Inspector Fenris, Kirkwall Guard. Your Keeper sent a telegram informing us of your upcoming visit, and due to your position in Clan Sabrae, you have been processed as a foreign diplomat to Kirkwall, Merrill of Clan Sabrae. Carver Hawke will be your escort around the city.”

“If you need an escort to your hotel…” Carver stumbled over his words. “That is, I know all the hotels in the area, Miss. Merrill, you’ll be perfectly safe with me.”

“I… haven’t gotten one. A hotel room, I mean.” Merrill hesitantly said. “I left my bags with a friend in… well… the Alienage.”

“Oh,” Carver mumbled.

“You have somewhere you can rest for the night?” Isabela asked, her cheery demeanor gone now. The Alienage! A rough place in Kirkwall, or any Free Marcher city. It was another dirty neighborhood down in the lower districts, another neighborhood like the New Gallows, where most mages and mage families were housed. It was dirt and dust and smog and unclean air, with the stench of fish and shit and blood and unwashed bodies crowded next to each other. Anders suppressed a shudder. He wouldn’t go into the Alienage or the New Gallows unless he had no other choice. Merrill, however, merely shrugged.

“Yes? That is, I have a roof over my head, I’ll be fine.” She said cheerfully enough. “No need to worry!” She picked up her hat from the ground and carefully adjusted it on her head. Merrill looked neat, prim, a little fussy and old-fashioned, and terribly sweet. Anders just couldn’t let her wander off into the Alienage! What if she got lost in those winding streets?

“Merrill? Why don’t you come to dinner at my home?” Anders asked hastily. “Carver can come too, and Isabela, of course, and your friend at the Alienage if it would make you feel better,” Anders added quickly. “And Inspector Fenris, you’re invited as well. I think I would like to hear more about your Clan’s eluvian and how the Kirkwall museum got a hold of it. I think I may know a few people who can help you get that mirror back where it belongs.”

“Really? Do you really think so, Anders?” Merrill asked, her bright eyes nearly sparkling with excitement. “I’d be quite happy to come to dinner, and of course I’ll have to invite my friend- can I bring her son as well? He’s a very good boy, well mannered and everything-”

“Of course you can. I’ll figure out something for dinner. How about... “ Anders pulled out the fob watch in his trouser pocket. “Seven? A bit late, but I’ll make sure to have something whipped up by then. I live on High Street, a white three-story house with the bright blue fence.” If all else failed he’d order from the Ruby Repose. Maker, he needed to find a good cook!

“Thank you, Anders! I’ll just head to the Alienage and gather my things, I have a lot more paperwork in my bag.” Merrill exclaimed. “I’ll see you tonight!” She almost dashed across the street, heedless of the cars in her exuberance, but Carver grabbed her elbow and pulled her back to the sidewalk.

“Miss Merrill, we’ll go this way. So we don’t get run over.” Carver pointed to the busy street to illustrate his point. “I’ll make sure she gets to your house safe and sound, Warden Anders. Miss Merrill, if you’ll follow me.” He headed down the sidewalk, Merrill with him at every step. Eventually, they faded into the crowd of pedestrians. Isabela gently punched Anders’s arm.

“You couldn’t help yourself, could you sweet thing? Saw those big puppy eyes and had to jump in and play the hero.” Isabela teased. 

“It’s just a dinner, Isabela.” Anders retorted. His face was hot with embarrassment. Isabela wasn’t wrong about his need to take in strays of all kinds. Warden Commander Cousland always complained about the small army of stray cats that followed Anders around Amaranthine when he was stationed there. And Merrill looked so sad and alone on those steps, as sad as any bedraggled cat in need of a good meal and a warm place to sleep. Anders just- he wanted to help.

And if he learned a little more about the eluvian at the museum, that would just be a bit of a sweet extra.

“I hardly think it’s heroic.” Fenris opined. “Messere Anders is merely feeding his curiosity.” Anders couldn’t help it notice that Inspector Fenris didn’t sound like he didn’t approve of Anders’s curiosity. 

“The invitation is open if you want it, Inspector. I wasn’t teasing.” Anders offered.

“I… may take you up on it,” Fenris said. “I also have questions about the Dalish artifacts in the museum.” But he didn’t expand on what his questions were, even though Anders gave him more than enough time to speak. Instead, Inspector Fenris placed his dark grey fedora on his head.

“Messere Anders. Miss Isabela. Good day.” He said curtly, and then he was gone, another shape in the crowd. Isabela whistled.

“Andraste’s granny panties, I think he smiled at you, Anders! Whatever have you done to make him smile?” Isabela exclaimed, and she took Anders’s arm to escort him down the sidewalk to hail a cab.

“Smiling? Surely not!” Anders protested. “I don’t think Inspector Fenris knows how to smile!” But Isabela’s comment made his curiosity roar to life. What would Inspector Fenris look like if he smiled? And not that viciously polite smile, that cold sort of grimace that made him look like he was snarling and ready to bite your head off, but a genuine, warm sort of smile.

“Oh, he smiled at you. You were busy inviting Miss Merrill to dinner and weren’t looking, but he smiled!” Isabela promised, and she waved her hand out to a passing cab. Anders was certain the navy blue of her long coat was what caught the cabbie’s eye in the sea of grey, for she pulled up to the curb and they piled into the back seat. Anders gave the cab driver, a dwarven woman with pale blonde hair, the directions, and he sat back.

“Now I have to whip up a meal in under five hours,” Anders complained under his breath. “Oh, the things I do to sate my curiosity.”

“Sweet thing, admit it. You’d be bored to tears if you didn’t set these ridiculous sorts of challenges for yourself.” Isabela said with a grin. “And besides, I think I can scrounge up some temporary help if you need it. Especially if you want to impress a certain handsome Inspector.”

“Isabela, that’s a figment of your wild imagination. And some liquor, no doubt.” Anders said automatically. Inspector Fenris was certainly handsome, Anders admitted, but there was a wildness lurking in those green eyes that spelled out the certain danger to anyone who came too close. Anders liked danger, but he also liked being alive, so the likes of Inspector Fenris were not for him. Good for a bit of a flirt, but not much more.

Now if he could only convince his heart of that, he would be getting along swimmingly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading and sticking with my unorganized update schedule. I hope to update with a chapter two soon! Thanks again for reading!


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